Familiar Faces, Worn Out Places
by QueenofBloodandTears
Summary: It's 1485, Richard fights for his crown and loses, it doesn't matter, he thinks, he will be reunited with his wife but when he wakes up instead in 1536 in the midst of the religious reformation, he finds a world where even a King can be reduced into a state of extreme humility and penury. Can he retain his dignity, or will he let vengeance dominate his life again? song fic
1. Chapter 1

"_We clawed,_

_We chained our hearts in vain,_

_We jumped never asking why_

_We kissed, I fell under your spell  
(A love no one could deny)_

_Don't you ever say I always walked away_

_I always loved you_

_I can't live a life running for my life_

_I will always love you"_

_~ Wrecking Ball by Miley Cyrus_

Richard cast his eyes down. It was too hard to look on Anne's body without remembering her last words.

She had told him she loved him and he betrayed her. Looking at his left, he felt nothing but disgust, the man looking back at her was a man he no longer recognized. Richard tore his gaze away from Elizabeth and told her to leave.

She left without question.

He had a battle to plan that would decide the fate of England.

* * *

It was over. Richard spit large amounts of blood. Blood kept gushing through his wounds but he would not die.

Even in death he showed defiance. He was not going to die without fighting Henry Tudor. "Henry Tudor" He said spitting blood at his enemy's shoe when Henry showed up. Henry asked for a sword, his stepfather, the turncoat Thomas Stanley gave him his, Henry took it and plunged it deep into Richard's heart.

The last sun King of York gasped then after two years of tumultuous ruling, his life and reign came to an end at last. This was the end of the York House and the Plantagenet dynasty and the start of a new one.

* * *

The Tudors were on the rise so it was obvious that he married into the House of York to heal the wounds that the civil war had left in England.

Their wedding was a spectacle to see. But it would never be the same. Elizabeth regretted not being there for Richard. But she had bigger plans, she could not disappoint her mother. They both wanted her to be Queen. It was important to have a Woodville on the throne, grandmother Jacquetta said. Albeit Henry Tudor was not of her liking, she would have chosen him any day above all others. He was King and King invictus. He would triumph above all others just like her father had done, and just like her father he was a conqueror, a self-made King and a man who valued knowledge above all other things.

Yes, the future looked bright for her and her heirs.

* * *

Richard woke up from his slumber. Where was he? Was it all a dream? Had he really died?

He looked around him. He was place in an enclosed space, no room to move at all. He felt suffocated. He had to get out of here. His breathing was ragged, he got his arms to open the box, as soon as he did dirt poured on him.

He mentally swore as he clawed his way from underneath the dirt. Finally reaching the surface, he gasped breathing the first cleaned air (unaware to him) in years. Thank god, he cried mentally looking wildly around for any sign of life.

Had he died? It all felt so real. Maybe he had and he landed in hell. It wouldn't be the first thought that came to any son of York's head. He was sure his eldest brothers, Edward, Edmund, and George must've thought the same when they were at the face of their enemies. It seemed ironic that out of all of them, it should be Richard who was the most just, the most fair, who should be remembered as the most evil King of England.

"Damn it." He heard someone said. He walked to the peasant who was seemed to be sweeping off the dirt from the Abbey. He looked at the altar where all the relics ought to be.

"What happened here?" He asked the man.

The man looked at him and laughed at his poor dress.

"What's so funny?"

"Did you come out of a hospital fellow?"

"What?" Richard's brow furrow. Devil king or not, he was not going to have this poor devil talk to him this way. He was a king, he had been anointed before the highest peers of England, before the sight of God, he deserved some respect!

"Your clothes." Richard looked down at them. It hadn't dawned on him the poor state of them. "Where were you, in an old cousins' wars fair? I haven't seen clothes as old as that since me father's time!"

The man's laughter angered Richard but his last sentence cut his anger short.

"I say, are you lost friend? Nobody has used clothes like that since … well since last century!"

"What year is this?"

The man scratched his head. Boy! Was this poor fellow really bad in the head. He better be careful, he grabbed his broom tightly just in case it turned out the mad fellow was also a dangerous one.

"This be the year of our most merciful lord Henry VIII by the grace of the old God, fifteen thirty six." He said. "Are ye alright?"

Richard nodded his head slowly. He turned around and began walking.

"Oy, where are you going? There no more services in this abbey!"

But Richard didn't listen.

"Hey, you can't go out there, they will catch you!" He turned Richard violently around and hid the young man behind one of the pillars.

"Don't touch me!" Richard roared throwing the man to the ground. He stepped out of the abbey and as soon as he did, he realized his mistake.

The King's justiciars had been appointed by Cromwell to check on all Abbeys and eliminate every last symbol of pagan worship and imagery and give the relics back to the King so he could sell them to the highest bidder or keep them and do whatever he wished with them.

It was the way of the new regime. And nobody had regretted it more than the prior's brother, Matthew Levy, who had seen his brother and countless other priests destroyed by the King's greed. Where were they supposed to go now? All those tombs and beautiful Christs desecrated. It was not fair. This King was not like his father. The old King, Prince Harry's father, back when Henry was still a lad, would have never allowed for this heresy. His father had been a good King and his mother, the most pious lady he had ever known.

This poor lad did not know what had transpired here. He had surely been hidden under a rock all his life. Half the population of England did not know about the King's great matter until the Queen, by God's good grace, had presented herself before the Blackfriars church near Bridewell and defended her case with the grace and dignity her good mother, the late Queen Isabella, was said to have.

"That poor Queen." He said to himself. He looked at that poor boy. By his clothes, his family must have been one of those old nobles houses that had supported the usurper during the last battle in the struggle for the throne in the civil war. They must have been left penniless afterwards with the King's father seizing their lands and selling them off to his favorites who ironically were also now on the short end of the stick by his son's new policies.

This new King reminded Matthew of what his mother said the first Yorkist King was. Aye, he thought with his loins not with his head.

He bravely pushed his arse out of the abbey with his broom still in his hands and shooed off the justiciars. "Get out old man! You and the boy have no business here!"

"Boy! I will have you know-" The man cut Richard short by slapping him in the face, causing him to drop to the ground and taste more dirt.

"Dirty peasant!" The man yelled.

"Don't be pushing the poor boy, it's not his fault! He not know what be happening, poor lad just confused."

"The King's secretary doesn't care about confusion. We came here for the altars old man, according to our inventory you and the other priests were going to give us everything."

"Give? We didn't give you anything. You took it from us. Now see here," he waved his finger at them, dropping his broom in his anger. "you took our most precious relics, there is nothing else you could want here. You took it all!"

"Liar. You still have more of that gold. Show us where it is!"

"I not know what ye talk about, you morons took it all!"

The leader of the men got down from his horse and beat the old priest into a bloody pulp. Richard, becoming conscious again, had only seconds to realize what had happened and ran to the old man who had defended him despite his arrogance.

"Go." Matthew said to the poor boy before death took him.

Richard turned angrily to the men. "What have you done? What have you done!"

The men cackled. "Go boy, this is not your problem The old man brought it on to himself for not telling us where the gold was. If you don't want to get your arse kicked, you better go."

"This is a place of worship and he was a man of God, how dare you lay hands on him!" He said emphasizing on the word 'God'.

"King's orders kid, you either go along or you hang just like the other priests. Look!" He pointed to a tree where three priests, one which Richard guessed by his clothes had been the prior of this Abbey, hanged.

"Noooooooooo!" Richard cried averting his gaze from the sight. "Who did this?" He demanded, his face turned a shade of dark purple, his eyes were visible with rage.

"The King boy, are you deaf? The King has ordered all his subjects to sign the oath, either you are with him or you are against him. He is your new pope now. Now get up" he kicked Richard in the stomach. Richard spit up blood. "Or leave. It's your choice, get moving or join your pagan friends there."

Never in his life had Richard seen such desecration and such heresy. Who was this Henry VIII? And who did he think he was to do this and to name himself pope?! Just what monster had Elizabeth bred with that half Welsh bastard Henry Tudor?

No doubt, Richard thought, it was his Woodville blood and his brother's that had taken over this new Tudor King.

Richard crossed himself and sent a gave a silent prayer for the old man's soul then left.

He did not know where he was going but he had to go somewhere self.

* * *

Mary opened the windows of Hudson. She hated herself for what she had just done. If this had been her mother she would have never done it. She had been presented with many opportunities for martyrdom but she never backed down, she would die for her cause happily if that was it took to make her husband regain his reason again. Mary had been too weak, she had cared more about her earthly body than her immortal soul.

I am sorry mama. She saw her ladies playing outside in the rain, happily dancing and exclaiming this was the best day of their lives. Being in Mary's service, they hardly got to do anything except pray and lament themselves. Seeing the Princess sad all the time, they couldn't help but feel this way. If she had only learned to live life, they said, then she would be happy and not make such a huge deal of things all the time.

They didn't care. Nobody did. God had abandoned her, and so had her parents. Her mother promised her she would never leave her but she also had.

Mary decided it was enough lament for one day and went to join her ladies but when she got there they were already gone.

* * *

Richard made his way to an old house. If he remembered correctly by the structure it was Hudson. Thank God, it was the second time he swore the name of the Lord in vain. He laughed madly throwing himself to the muddy ground, kissing the dirt beneath him.

* * *

Mary heard crazy laughter coming from the forest. She went to see what it was and found a man kneeling, kissing the mud.

"Who are you?" She asked him. When he didn't answer, she took compassion of the poor man and knelt before him.

"We have warm food and clothes inside, you are more than welcome to come. My name is Mary." She said cleverly omitting her title and last name to the stranger. There was no way of knowing if this man was a wanderer or a thief.

Richard looked at her, his gaze fixating on her face. She looked a lot like Elizabeth. Indeed, from this light as the skies cleared and the rain ceased and the sun came up again. She looked like her perfect twin. Red hair, blue eyes, same skin, same height but there was something different about her. He didn't sense the same air of deception around her as he did with Elizabeth.

"Who is the owner of this manor?"

Mary blinked. That was not what she had been expected. She became wary of him.

Seeing her expression change and aware of her feelings, Richard reassured her. "I do not mean you any harm, I am just confused. I have been travelling for two days, I haven't eaten and barely had any water. I-I-I … don't know where I am or what year is this. I can barely remember my name." This was partly true, he didn't know what year this was. The old priest in the Abbey could have lied and this was all part of some ruse or he was still dreaming and he hadn't yet fought Henry Tudor. Everything was possible.

But Mary killed his last thoughts with her next words, taking pity on him when she heard his story and saw no dishonesty in his large sky blue eyes. "It is the year of our Lord fifteen thirty six, May 30." She extended her hand and helped the poor man get up. "Come inside, I will help you get settled. We are short of staff so it won't be difficult for you to find a position there." She explained. "And the owner of the mansion is me."

"You?" A woman, Richard thought. She must be a widow then. "What is your last name?"

"Tudor. I am Mary Tudor, the King's eldest daughter."


	2. Chapter 2

Sebastian Le March, the new ambassador to England, arrived late. His father had been one of the biggest influences in English events. He was the son of Eustace Chapuys, it was his duty to do his father and new country proud. His father had sent him a letter telling him that the Emperor had appointed him as his representative to work alongside his father and his representatives from other sectors of his emprie.

It was an exciting prospect to Sebastian Cristoph. He hardly used his second and last names since they were inherited from his mother's parents who had once been part of the low nobility like his father's mother. He never really knew them or his mother for that matter. But he was told by his father that she was really beautiful.

Now it was his turn to encounter another beautiful lady, the woman whom his father was (secretly) besotted. Lady Mary.

He found her repulsive when he looked at her portrait, she looked like an old lady in the body of a young girl, but when he looked at her, she looked very different. Her face wasn't the pale, wrinkled face or sallow face that he had hear from the other courtiers who obviously had been her mother's enemies, otherwise they would not speak so unfavorably of her.

"My lord."

"No, my lady I am no lord. I am ambassador Sebastian Le March, March for short."

"Like the month?"

"Yes, incidentally it's my birth month." He said with a small smile that Mary shared.

"Why have you come here mister ambassador? To what do we owe the honor of your presence?"

Blunt and straight to the point. And charming –his mind added. Sebastian liked her already.

"Your father sends a summons, he wants you to attend the Queen's homecoming."

"The Queen's homecoming?" Mary raised an eyebrow. She never thought her father so generous, especially after what happened to his last wife. "Who is this Jane Seymour? What do we know about her? Ambassador Chapuys said she was Catholic but her brothers of the new faith aren't they?"

"They are my lady but the Queen is as adamant in her beliefs as her heretic brothers are in theirs."

"So what are my chances with them?"

"His Majesty is considering the younger brothers, Thomas, Lord Sudeley or Sir Henry to be your spouse."

Mary's eyebrows shot up in alarm. Sebastian reassured her. "It may not come to be. The King has too much on his plate at the moment to think of betrothals, the Queen herself asked on this. She wants you to be united with one of her brothers as a symbol of good will –also because she suspects that way Cromwell and the rest will not hurt you."

"On the contrary, that way they will hurt me more." Mary said dreading to marry one of the Seymour brothers. Even if her stepmother's intentions were good, which she did not doubt they were, her brothers were surely not. The Seymours were a fairly new family whose father had humble origins and although Edward Seymour's second wife descended from Edward III and the Seymour family itself through the maternal line could also claim royal descent, it still didn't change anything.

Once a duck, always a duck.

Mary did not want to marry them. She had been promised to Dukes and Princes since she was little, her new status was not going to change that.

"What about the Emperor's dowry, he promised me to the crown Prince of Portugal."

"That will be very difficult to get around the King of England. He is ruled by his minister, Cromwell. You have surely heard that he's been appointed to oversee all spiritual matters. They call this new post of Secretary of Spiritual matters." Sebastian snorted. "He will soon die before he lets you marry into one of the great Catholic houses."

Mary sighed. At least he is honest. He would not go on to exaggeration and beating around the bush like his father did. "What are my options then?"

"Nothing. The Emperor does not have the resources nor the patience to keep waiting for your father to admit his errors and to be frank with you, until he does, it will be a long time before you can find yourself married Princess." He said not afraid to use the word 'Princess' since it was her given title and he believed that in spite of it all, he still had to show her respect for God only knew. One day she might become Queen of England. The first Queen ever to reign this country. That is of course, if the Queen were to have no babies and the King's illegitimate son, Fitzroy were to die.

He had suggested to his father many ways to get rid of the boy but his father did not want to. He had no trouble concocting false rumors against Anne Boleyn, even gave his own man Brereton as a sacrificial lamb so the bitch would be put to death. Why couldn't he give another?

Then he remembered his father was a sentimental man when it came to the Princess.

By God, he really loves her.

Sebastian then told the Princess of his other option to escape.

"Won't the Emperor notice?"

"He will but I forgot to tell you me, silly me, that his Queen, the honorable Isabella favors you and she has been pushing for your cause more fervently than His August Majesty. She will desire your presence, she has been requesting for it ever since your father's union with Anne Boleyn."

"That was no true union. My father denied it." Mary said sharply. She did not know whether to believe in Sebastian or not. He was still a Chapuys was he not? His father was prone to exaggeration, yet he did prove himself more loyal than his father because he was honest.

"Nevertheless His Majesty did wed and bed her and they had a child and whether you like it or not my lady must reconcile herself with the idea that there are many who will want you to fall simply because you, to them, represent part of the old dying world and your sister and any child the King has from this point forward after his excommunication, as children of the reformation."

Mary did not like this.

"Children of rebirth." He added silently with a wry smile. He turned his head, Mary's new servant, Richard White, was there listening to every word they said. Sebastian turned his head back fixating his gaze at Mary. "My lady, you must start to think about making allies, make compromises. As much as we all admire your faith and I am sure the Emperor does as well, it would be more beneficial if you do as my mistress, the Empress suggests, play your enemies' game. Pretend to be one of them and then stab them in the back, the way they did to your mother."

Mary shook her head vigorously rising from her chair in a fury. "No, I will not. If you want to play your games of intrigues and betrayals be my guest, but I will not play your dirty games."

"It's not my games we are playing Your Highness. You were already part of them since before you were born. Your lady mother, God bless her soul, understood the importance of it. You just need to play your part, lie and repent later. The pope can give a dispensation for it afterwards if you desire so."

"I am tired of dispensations. I won't do it."

"Your Highness, you must. Otherwise they will take advantage-"

"I don't care if they do, they can well do if they want to, I am done playing games Ambassador."

"Then it seems Your Highness, you and I have nothing else to talk about."

Mary's ladies walked the ambassador to his carriage. Richard was proud that some of his father's courage survived through one of his (albeit lesser) descendants. If he were here, he would be just as proud as him. It was Mary's appearance though that kept Richard from wrapping his arms around her and give her comfort.

It was not her fault. His conscience said. The Lord works in mysterious ways. Perhaps this was God's way of telling him that not all of the York dynasty had been lost when he died that fateful day on Bosworth field.

Yet, he still not believed that the good and honorable actions of one girl could erase the actions of her ancestors.

"Master White, will you help me search for my copy of Plato?"

"You read Plato?"

Mary looked at him funnily. "Yes, why?"

"Nothing, pardon my ignorance."

Mary shook her head and chuckled at him. What a strange man he was. Richard found her book and gave it to her, Mary thanked him then sent him away. Unknown to her Richard had taken one of her other classics, the translation of her lady great-grandmother, Margaret Beaufort, Richard's greatest enemy other than Elizabeth's mother, of the bible. Before she went to bed he put it back, having finished it in less than an hour. Being a fast reader he went and pick another book from her hope chest. It was the history of England since Henry Tudor's conquest.

As he suspected, it said that Henry had attainted every one of his heads of government for pleading to fight for Richard the day before the fight. By doing this he intended to rewrite history –and he had –his mind added. He had enforced his will on the people just as their long ancestor William, another Conqueror, had done.

Richard smirked reading the history of England. Every King that walked on this precious isle, every single one was cursed to die young if they were just and noble. Richard did not think of himself as a saint. He had done things he was not proud of, but he had done them for the good of England. This King on the other hand, Elizabeth's son, was nothing more than a half-breed Woodville, half York bastard. At least his father had taken the field and was about to meet him before his men took him down, this man had no knowledge of war. He had grown up with the chivalric tales of King Arthur and Cadwalladr. He did not know what it was to take another man's life, to watch them lose their fortunes and plead for their lives before you plunged your sword through their bellies.

They always tell the ;nice' versions in the books. It was the one thing he hated about books. They always put the outcomes, never the trajectory. In a real war, it was not only men who lost their lives. It was children, women, innocent bystanders who might just happen to pass by, on their way to the next town to do their trade or sell their goods or visit a family member. Some of the soldiers, those not yet get caught up by the carnage, would see a fresh piece of meat, and devour it. It didn't matter if it was wrong or sinful, they were desperate, thirsty and about to die. What did they care if it was a defenseless woman or an innocent soul of a five year old?

Men, as long as he could remember, were all evil. They cared for one thing and one thing only –power. Richard had done the mistake of promising them honor and glory when he had none left. Henry, more cunning and practical had made no allusions, he said his quest was a divine quest for peace and justice and as King Arthur, he promised them justice when he was on the throne, not before.

You sure did Your Majesty. He said to himself, spitting the words like venom. Henry had made England prosperous again but at what cost? He had produced two living heirs, one which died too young and another who hadn't but who was more Woodville-York than Tudor and now because of his bad blood he was wrecking the country, tearing it in two just like his grandfather did.

Must be the Kingly curse, he thought again, then another thought struck him as he went to put the volume in Mary's bedroom. Elizabeth had said that she would curse the man or woman responsible for her children's deaths hadn't she?

Oh God. Richard ran back to his room and got on his knees praying this was not so, but the evidence all pointed to it. Elizabeth Woodville and her daughter, his former lover, Elizabeth of York, Mary's grandmother, had unwittingly cursed their own descendants. Yet Mary was alive which could only mean the curse only ran on the male line not the female line.

Mary could still have children. Even so, hadn't the ambassadors forced her to sign the oath, hadn't they said her father would never agree to any alliance as long as he didn't have a son? Richard snorted. Son. Yeah right.

He doubted Henry would give his daughter over to ANYONE, even with a son in the Tudor cradle.

He didn't know why but he had a strong affection for this girl that was his great-grand-niece. She wasn't like her father, she stood up for what she believed in and while she had a strong love for her sister, she wasn't blinded by it. Richard decided he was going to help her, guide her. Maybe through her, the York dynasty could still survive.

It was worth a shot. He told himself as he debated the matter over in his sleep. What other choice do I have? Everyone I know is gone. Her grandmother and great-grandmothers are gone. (Thank God). And George's son has been slain, all the remains is his daughter and her children but those are not here to stay. Her father will kill them just as he killed his own wife and imprisoned her mother.

"God damn this King." Richard muttered in his sleep as his dreams faded into darkness. Edward's grandson did not deserve his mercy or anyone's mercy. The daughter he had was too good for him.

As Richard went into a dreamless sleep, a figure appeared besides his bedside. Her hair was red as Mary's but her color was slowly fading away with each passing moment she spent on the land of the living. She knelt before her former lover. She pushed his dark bangs aside. She had admired Richard. If faith, if Melusina had been more fair, she would have been his bride instead of Henry's. She wished he could forgive her. She never meant anyone to start a war for her sake.

But now he was back and he was free to live the simple life he wanted. It was a pity that he would not get his wish.

_I am sorry I brought you back_. She whispered in his ear then kissed his forehead.

Richard rubbed his forehead the following morning. He had the most awful sensation, like something evil had visited him but he shrugged it off and went t about his business, attending the Princess.


	3. Chapter 3

Mary slept peacefully in her bed. She had strange dreams. They were the same, her grandmother calling on her name and a strange woman standing behind her with sparkling blue eyes. Before she could hear their full message she would always wake up. And the first thought that came to mind when she did, was the page boy Richard White.

It was probably nothing. Stress. That was all. She was hallucinating. Her father's ordeals were getting to her. Yet, she could not stop thinking about them. The pilgrims needed her help and she wanted to help them, she wanted to let their leader know that they had her full support.

Sebastian Le March and his father warned her against it; she was already on thin ice by her faith alone, if she showed open favor to the rebels it would place her back on her father's black list but she didn't care. She needed to visit him.

She put on her cloak and walked to his chambers. She bribed her father's guards so they would leave them alone. He was a man of forty but he looked older.

"Your Highness." He said, inclining his head low for the Princess. "What-"

Mary took off her ring, the only possession left of her mother's. It was a useless trinket in the new regime, but to the rebels it would be a symbol of defiance against her father's tyranny. "Take this, it belonged to my mother and her mother before. It is useless and you might not get anything from it but if you present it to your people with the message that Katherine of Aragon lives on through this ring, you might get more people to rally to your cause."

"Your Highness ... you are truly your mother's daughter. I wish there was more we could for you to deliver from you this hell."

"Do nothing, I am safe where I am, you should look after your own safety and that of your family. Let them know that I am with you and my mother is with you as well in spirit. I shall pray for all of you."

He nodded and closed his palm where he held her ring into a fist, vowing mentally not to forsake her.

She left his chambers and returned to hers. Richard was there waiting for her. He said he had heard noise and thought something bad happened."I went for a walk." She told him handing him her cloak for him to hang, then wheeled and said, "Why don't you take the night off Richard? You don't have to watch over me. My father's bodyguards will take care of that. Thank you for watching over me tonight, I greatly appreciate it."

Her smile was sweet, almost intoxicating as her grandmother's. Richard chased these thoughts away and curtsied to the Princess then left.

Mary then stopped him. "Richard!" He turned. She broadened her smile and took her favorite book from her sette. "I noticed you were reading this yesterday. I didn't realize I wasn't the only one with a passion for Boccacio." She blushed. "You can have it. I gather it would fare better in your hands instead of mine if they ever find it among my possessions."

He looked at the book then up at her. "Thank you." He said slowly with a small smile.

They stared at each other for a long time. There was something in his eyes that captivated Mary, that seemed so familiar yet she couldn't place it from where. She broke the silence.

"I shall give it back to you, I promise."

"There is no need. It's yours." Mary said giving him a kiss on his cheek, still smiling then she wheeled around dismissing his presence.

* * *

What was wrong with him? This was his enemy's granddaughter. A Woodville and a flirt by the looks of it just like her grandmother. She had inherited all of her looks including her way to manipulate other men. He wasn't a stranger to Woodville women and their ways. He had lost his kingdom, his wife, and his son because of it.

'Damn them' he thought, but try as he did, he couldn't bring himself to hate her. He looked outside the window facing the other wing of the palace of Hampton Court. It was there he saw her walk to Aske's chambers. From here he had watched as Aske's window was lit and the two figures conversed with Aske's bowing his head down into submission.

He wheeled around. She was a witch. Another witch in the Woodville family, yet she did not know it. She had been raised right by her mother and taught to fear God.

Perhaps ... with the right guidance she would turn out different from her forebears. With this he went to sleep peacefully, holding the copy of the Decameron against his breast.

* * *

It has been said that there is a force that can make all your life better and how easy it would be if it was like that for everyone. If we could just wave a magic wand and just find ourselves with better things, better family, better friends, but life is seldom like that.

Whatever force there is out there, if it watching us, it is only for its pure amusement. We are its entertainers and it, our puppeteer.

~o~

Mary awoke. She was dressed quickly in her best gown, purple with gold detachable sleeves and an equally purple with gold and pearls on the top, French hood. Her father's present Queen detested these fashions, they were the fashions of the whore, but Mary had grown used to them ever since her namesake, her aunt Mary had brought them with her from France after she became Louis' widow.

The Queen was in attendance with fewer ladies. She received Mary as she always did, embracing her as she was family and leading her to the dais where the rest of the royal family and the Queen's kin sat.

"Your father and I have been discussing your marriage proposals."

"You have? What has he concluded?" Mary asked, eager to hear what the news were regarding her unmarried status. She had been betrothed since she was two, first to the Dauphin, then the Emperor, then the King of France himself and by the time her father had left her mother for Anne Boleyn, she had lost count of how many times, how many broken promises had been laid out for her.  
Her hopes therefore were not too high.

But Jane surprised her. "He has accepted the Portuguese King's offer of marriage."

Mary's eyes nearly bulged. "Really?" She could feel her heart beating fast. "To Dom Juan?"

Jane nodded. "Yes. The King paid your full dowry at the last minute. The Emperor did not like it, but your father has already signed the agreement and if he has a Prince by this fall, he will be eager to see you two wed before the year is over."

"B-but are you sure? There could be some impediments." The heir to Portugal and her were cousins after all, they both descended from the Catholic Kings and also had common English royal ancestors. "Maybe my father should check more into this."

"There is no need," Jane assured her stepdaughter. "Everything has been checked and a papal dispensation has already been given."

Mary opened her mouth in shock. Everything she wanted, everything she had wished for and asked for in her dreams had finally become a reality. "When?"

"The plan is before the year ends but your father has been very insistent as of late and wants you married before your future brother is born."

Mary gawked more openly at Jane, her eyes becoming like two saucers as her stepmother spoke. _Before your future brother is born._ Jane could still have a son and that would mean that her position as her father's legitimate heir would be put further into question, even with sons, they would still come after Jane's son. Yet, the prospect of marrying and having a family of her own outweighed these worries.

Jane laughed at her stepdaughter's expression. She clasped her hands and said "You deserve this happiness Mary but don't tell him I told you, it should be a surprise. You must act more surprised when your father makes the announcement which will be very soon when you least expect it."

Mary nodded eagerly and closed her mouth. She put her hand on top of Jane's. "Thank you" She told her. "You have turned my sadness to joy. You've made me the happiest lady in Christendom."

"Don't thank me lady Mary, thank your father. He was very eager for this proposal and I do believe he wants nothing more than to see you happy."

Mary nodded. She always believed deep in her heart that her father cared for her and now here was proof that he did.

Below Richard watched the exchange between Jane and Mary. He could only guess what they were saying. It must have been something joyous to make Mary so happy. When the feast ended and she dismissed her ladies from her chambers, she wheeled to Richard and confided with him all about it.

"Can you believe it? Me. Married at last." Mary breathed holding her hands, broadening her smile as she waited for his reaction.

"T-that's great." He said attempting to show joy.

"I am so happy. It's like a dream come true Richard. I will make sure you are still part of my household when I am married. You have been such a great help to me. I would hate to lose your companionship."

"You won't lose it my lady, I will continue in your service as long as you want me."

"Thank you!" She exclaimed then hugged him. It took him by surprise but the only thing that came to mind as she tightened her grip and whispered "You are a true friend Richard." was anger and jealousy.

She was going to marry another royal in the hopes of begetting children to get what she viewed as hers by right. In this respect she was no different from her grandmother, yet when she said to him that she treasured his friendship, she meant it and it prompted Richard to hug her back.

She sighed resting her head against his shoulder, basking in familiar worth. She fell asleep, thinking of happy thoughts and her impending marriage. Richard's hand trembled as he struggled against his own rationality. He had done his duty showing her comfort, but he wanted to show her something more. He wanted to be her protector, her valiant knight like in the romances she read and protect her against her father and her future husband. He wanted her all for himself.

He passed his hand through her free auburn hair. His logic was still telling him not to give in his desires but he no longer heard it; he wanted this young woman as much as he had wanted her grandmother but not just because of desire but because -he realized- he also cared for her.


End file.
